Of Hunith, Hugs, and Horrendous Hats
by Literaria
Summary: Hunith's first reaction, upon seeing her son ride into Ealdor at a full gallop, was to panic.  "He knows!" Merlin shouted, and her heart stuttered to a halt.  Then he turned, and she saw the grin that encompassed every feature of his face.


**Sorry, not a continuation of "Son of a Sorcerer." Just a quick, fluffy pick-me-up.**

**Disclaimer: if I owned Merlin, there would be hugs.  
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><p><strong>Of Hunith, Hugs, and Horrendous Hats<strong>

Hunith's first reaction, upon seeing her son ride into Ealdor at a full gallop, was to panic. Every worst-case scenario that had plagued her for the past seven years came rushing back all at once – he was injured, he was on the run, Camelot was going to war —

"He knows!" Merlin shouted as he reined in his horse and swung down before the beast had even quite stopped, and Hunith's heart stuttered to a halt. This was it, then.

Then he turned, and she saw the grin that encompassed every feature of his face.

"He knows," her son chanted as he ran to her and pulled her into a fierce hug. "He knows, he knows, and it's all okay, everything's fine, it's — " He lost coherency and leaned back, beaming down at her until he pulled her in again and kissed the top of her head.

"Merlin, what…?" she murmured into his shoulder, dazed. "What's happened?"

Merlin took a deep breath and pulled away fully this time, but still kept his hands on her arms. "Arthur knows," he said almost reverently, but the slightly manic smile persisted. "About me, about the magic… everything. No more secrets."

Hunith lost track of what happened for another minute or so, but the next thing she remembered was that her arms were full of one madly happy warlock, and she was laughing and crying all at once, and she hadn't felt this kind of relief since a fearless, seven-year-old Merlin had miraculously (and one might even say _magically_) survived a forty-foot drop from a tree without more than a scratch.

"Not so tight, Hunith, you might break him, and I still need him," called a familiar voice, and Hunith unwrapped herself from her son to see the king of Camelot leading his own horse and Merlin's up the road.

"Your Majesty," she greeted him, dropping into a deferent curtsy.

"Just Arthur, Hunith. Merlin never shows me any respect, so why should you?" Arthur grinned.

"You know about Merlin's…?" She was almost afraid to say it aloud, just in case she had somehow misunderstood the words _no__ more __secrets._

"Rather bizarre habit of saving my life? Yes, I have heard something about it."

And then Hunith hugged the king of Camelot just as tightly as she had her own son.

"Don't worry about Arthur," Merlin teased when the king stiffened and tried awkwardly to decide where his arms should go. "He's just bad at hugs."

"I am _not,_" Arthur retorted and, in his distraction, managed to settle into Hunith's embrace.

"Oh, please, you always look terrified at the very mention of the word."

"Merlin, be nice to Arthur," Hunith chided as she gently disentangled herself. "What brings you both here?"

"Well, _Mer_lin's been pestering me nonstop to let him come visit you ever since I found out about his magic," Arthur said wryly as Merlin tied off the horses at a fencepost, "and I figured I'd come along to see if you could assist me with something. You see, your son absolutely refuses to wear any of my suggestions — "

"That hat design was horrific."

"It was lovely."

"It was pointy and purple."

"It was regal!"

"_Pointy,_ Arthur!"

Although they both maintained their decorum to a certain degree, Hunith swore she could see them sticking their tongues out at each other if they had just been a few years younger.

"Anyway," Arthur said with great dignity, "I was hoping you could make some sort of official wardrobe for the court sorcerer that he would approve of, or at least that he would be afraid to refuse." He pulled two bulging, squashy packages from the horses. "So these — "

"Oh, Arthur, you didn't," Merlin pleaded.

"— are a gift from the Lady Guinevere. More kinds of cloth than I knew existed, enough to make several outfits _and __a __hat. _Maybe two." Arthur grinned smugly over his shoulder. "Whatever you don't use is yours to keep."

"Court sorcerer?" Hunith repeated. "You've made Merlin your court sorcerer?"

"Not officially for awhile yet. The ban won't be publicly repealed until Beltane."

"Mother, please, no hat," Merlin begged.

"Merlin, I could not refuse the king's request," Hunith said innocently, biting down a smirk as she took one of the packages of cloth from Arthur and led them inside.

"I will never wear a hat, Arthur."

"You will if I order you to."

"No, I won't, and you know it."

"You will if your mother tells you to."

"Mother!"

"Sorry, Merlin."

"Hah! Even your own mother's on my side."

"No hat."

"Ohhh, yes hat.

"No hat."

"Yes hat."

"No hat."

"Hat."

"Never."

The last time she had seen Arthur and Merlin together, Hunith couldn't help but notice the budding brotherhood between them. Now, she thought as she smiled fondly, she could only hope that their sibling rivalry wouldn't come to blows.

"You can't make m— _argh!_" Hunith glanced over her shoulder and found her son in a headlock.

Too late.


End file.
